


Like a Melody that Haunts You Night and Day

by Moons_of_Avalon



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Canon Divergent, Credence is a soft boy, M/M, Not quite an AU, PTSD, Percival Graves has Issues, Slow Burn, Will Be Explicit Later On I Promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-25 01:37:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9796643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moons_of_Avalon/pseuds/Moons_of_Avalon
Summary: Percival Graves has resumed his duties at the MACUSA, but Grindelwald has left a broad path of destruction in his wake, including a young man with a gentle, scarred soul and eyes that pose a danger to any person with a beating heart.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [s-o-l-d-a-t (starsandsnipesforever)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsandsnipesforever/gifts).



> YAY I'VE STARTED A NEW THING EVEN THOUGH I DEFINITELY DIDN'T NEED TO!!!! THROW ME OUT A WINDOW!!!!
> 
> jk it's all good. 
> 
> Basically I watched Fantastic Beasts and came away a changed person. If anyone's concerned: yes I will still be finishing my other fics, this one is just joining the rotation because I have little to no self control.
> 
> THIS FIC IS CANON DIVERGENT: Percival is alive!!! Grindelwald spent months in Percival's place gaining Credence's trust!!! Percival and Credence did not know each other before Grindelwald came into play!!! Credence's Obscurus has been removed by Newt and he saw Grindelwald be revealed!!
> 
> In other words: I love and respect JKR, but I refuse to take her words as gospel and will supplement with headcanons where I see fit. Also the word no-maj will have no place in my writing.
> 
> And speaking of headcanons: I think of Credence as being part Veela so that may or may not make some appearances as we go forward

Percival Graves lets a long breath escape him as he stands in front of the MACUSA’s medical facility. It’s only been a month since he woke up in St. Mungo’s Hospital in London. Where he had been before that, and how he had arrived there, is still unclear in his memory. The last thing he does recall is being attacked in his bed while he’d been overseas, flashes of light…after that it’s all just black. For six months, presumably, Grindelwald had assumed his identity, and wrought havoc from inside the MACUSA. Percival’s hands still curl into fists at the thought, at the disturbing reality that he could be so easily replaced.

It took a full week even after he woke up for him to have the strength to speak and identify himself, but after all that time it was too late. Grindelwald had been captured, and the Obscurial Crisis had barely been covered up. All that was left was the boy, Credence. 

His Obscurius had been separated from him by the unlikely hero Newt Scamander, who had also taken it for further study, and ever since he’s been in this ward. Percival doesn’t envy the Healers who are charged with his care. They are, after all, the first in the world to ever treat such a patient.

“Director Graves!”

Percival nods politely to the attendant, who hurriedly tucks a few strands of hair behind her ear, a stack of papers clutched tight to her chest. Percival lowers his eyes, pursing his lips to keep a smirk off his face. It’s an all too common reaction from young, new additions to the MACUSA’s ranks, he’s grown used to it by now.

“I’m here to see the Obscurial,” he says simply, unable to fight a faint smile when he makes eye contact and watches the attendant blink rapidly and look away. Poor girl almost looks disappointed.

“Of course, Director” she says, drawing her wand to guide the papers into a neat stack on the desk. Another flick and they begin to fold themselves into little mice, scuttling off to cubbies and mailboxes. “Just a moment, I’ll go get Healer Donaciano.”

“Thank you.” Another sigh makes Percival’s nostrils flare as the attendant rushes off down the hall, her heels clattering against the marble floor. The sound presses into his temples, pulsing with the ticking of the nearby clock while the skittering of memos pricks at his skin. He winces when, just for a moment, the lights flash too bright, and he digs the heel of his hand into his brow, biting his tongue to keep from groaning into the deafening roar of the quiet room.

And as soon as it had arrived, the pain vanishes, leaving Percival to gasp for breath. As far as the average person may be able to tell, he’s recovered himself and returned to his duties remarkably well. Or so his coworkers keep telling him. But the reality is not so simple. It never is.

“Percival?”

The warm voice an old friend manages to bring a smile to Percival’s face as he raises his head.“Cordelia,” he says, extending his hand, which Cordelia grasps, drawing him in with familiar, time-worn hands. She’s been a healer for longer than Percival himself has been an auror, and strands of silver weave through her intricate braids now, mirroring the shades of grey that have begun to show themselves in Percival’s own hair. “It’s good to see you.”

“Good to see you, too,” Cordelia replies. She squeezes his hand for a moment before releasing it, allowing Percival to reluctantly tuck it behind his back. “I’ve been worried about you.” 

“You are not alone in that,” Percival chuckles. “But I’m doing well.”

Cordelia sighs, and Percival does his best to hold firm. She’s always been perceptive, it’s part of what made her such a brilliant healer. Percival can’t help but taste bitterness on his tongue at the thought that she, of all people, could’ve been fooled by Grindelwald’s rouse.

“Are you sure?” she prods. Bitterness finds a voice of its own.

“Quite.” 

A beat passes as the cold hiss diffuses into the air. Percival has to shake himself, swallowing his discontent.

“I’m sorry––”

Cordelia dismisses his apology with a wave of her hand. Instantly forgiven. “It’s alright,” she says. Percival’s smile is weak, but grateful nonetheless. “Shall I take you to see him now?”

“Yes, thank you.” 

Percival keeps his hands tightly clasped behind his back as they begin to walk down the corridor. Other healers and attendants step aside for them and Percival pretends to ignore the hushed voices that rush through the air, like heavy rain hitting pavement. But the incessant babble of it has his head beginning to ache again, until Cordelia grounds him.

“We’ve been keeping him in one of the private wings,” she says. “There’s more space for him, and he’s less likely to be disturbed by people passing by.”

Percival raises an eyebrow. “Is he sensitive to sound?” 

Quite out of nowhere, a weariness covers Cordelia’s face, weighing down her attempt at a smile.

“He’s sensitive to everything.”

Percival can only find it in him to hum in understanding before they stop in front of a large window, haloed by charm that would make it appear to be a mirror from the other side. The room inside is stark white, from the walls to the tiled floor to the simple furniture. The only spot of darkness to be found is a head of black hair, rested on a plain pillow on the narrow bed. 

Percival’s throat goes dry when the boy looks up, his gaze locking with Percival’s as if he can see right through the glass. That face. He knows that face…

“Like I said,” Cordelia chuckles, “Sensitive to everything. He always knows when someone’s at his window.”

Percival nods vaguely, too busy wracking his mind for where he knows this boy from to form a response. And then it flashes clear in his mind, like a bolt of lightning. The Second Salem boy, from Tina Goldstein’s scandal. He hadn’t recognized the name when he’d seen it––there were too many cases, too many names of wizards and non-wizards alike that passed over his desk every day for him to remember just one in passing mention––but that face, those dark eyes that seem to bore into his…the same ones that he’d watched go blank as his wand had passed over the boy’s face to Obliviate him, and that had followed him home for weeks, even after they should have long since been forgotten…

Who could forget a face like that?

“You know him?”

“No,” Percival says quickly, clearing his throat to steady himself. “But I remember him, from the incident last year with Tina Goldstein.”

“Ah, yes,” Cordelia nods. “She’s quite fond of him, you know. Visits at least once a week, brings him flowers. Her sister visits too, and I pretend not to notice that she’s sneaking him sweets.”

Percival quirks a little smile. Unlike her sister, Tina’s never struck him as a nurturing type. Perhaps he’s misjudged her. 

Behind the glass, Credence’s hand tightens in his bedsheets, and he ducks his head down, his eyes still furiously trying to penetrate the charmed window so he can see who’s watching him. A frown returns to Percival’s face as quickly as it had disappeared.

“Goldstein was there when he was separated from the Obscurus, correct?”

“Yes,” Cordelia replies. “From what I hear, she was an integral part of getting him to calm down enough for anyone to get close. But even so, he barely talks when she visits. He barely talks to anyone.”

Percival nods, and they’re both distracted when a thready whine rings through the air. Credence is grimacing now, holding a pillow tight to his chest.

“We probably shouldn’t keep him waiting any longer,” Cordelia sighs. “I’ll go in and ask him if he’s ok with having a visitor, just so he isn’t surprised.”

“Of course,” Percival says. Cordelia produces her wand and unlocks the door, her hand just beginning to turn the knob when he suddenly asks: “Does he take well to new visitors?” 

“No way to tell, really,” Cordelia shrugs. “You’re the first one he’s had.”

With that, Cordelia slips inside the door, and Credence sits up immediately, still clutching his pillow.

“How are you today, Credence?” Cordelia asks. The boy shrugs, his gaze already flitting back to the window. Cordelia follows his gaze, but does her best to maintain her bedside manner. “You have a visitor, do you think you’re up to seeing him?”

Credence hesitates, his brows knitting together. Now that he’s sitting up, Percival can see the rather severe hunch in his shoulders and neck. Physical evidence of a life of cowering.

“You don’t have to,” Cordelia continues. “I can tell him to come another time if you like.”

Credence remains silent, but once a few seconds tick by, he slowly nods his head and whispers something Percival can’t hear. Cordelia nods, guiding Credence towards the small table near the center of the room before beckoning Percival to come in.

Looking back, Percival’s not really sure what he expected.

As soon as he sets foot inside the room, Credence’s gentle face twists into horror, his mouth open in silent scream, his eyes so wide that the whites of them almost seem to shine. Percival freezes, his hand still on the doorknob as Credence tumbles back out of his chair, screeching as he splays across the floor. 

Magic crackles like the air in a thunderstorm, and Credence screams, clasping his hands over his head, when a vase shatters next to the bed, wilted lilies and shards of glass raining across the floor. Cordelia tries to reach for him, murmuring soothing words but Credence is sobbing now, inconsolable. Percival finally snaps out of his stupor when those eyes––black pools of terror––fix on his own again.

“I’m sorry.”

The words are like a spell of their own as they move through the air. Credence goes silent, clinging to Cordelia, who looks at Percival with apologetic eyes. Percival has to turn away, his gaze fixing on the doorknob, watching his knuckles turn white with strain. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. Of course it would go like this. The last time this boy had seen his face it hadn’t been his at all… “I should have known better than to come. I’ll go now.”

He hears a rustle of fabric, and looks up to see Cordelia standing. She’s guided Credence to his feet, and Percival finds himself struck by how tall the boy is. He’s not a boy at all, but a young man, despite what his childlike eyes and nervous mannerisms might initially lead one to believe.

“I won’t disturb you again,” he says. “You have my word on that, Credence.” 

The sound of his name seems to resonate, because Credence’s dark brows furrow together, confusion taking over his expressive face. But Percival isn’t about to press his luck. He shuts the door behind him without a second thought, cursing his inability to Apparate inside the MACUSA headquarters the entire way down the hall.

******

A week goes by. Percival drowns himself in his work, in cleaning up the mess a murderer had left in his name. Others avoid him for all except the most necessary tasks, and even Seraphina seems to glance at him only out of the corners of her eyes. He suspects guilt plays as much a role in those furtive glances as any worry might.

And in the dark of the night, when he can’t sleep for fear of something in the shadows, something watching, waiting, plotting that’s never there when he casts a wave of light throughout his bedroom, he thinks that their guilt is deserved.

But mutinous thoughts and fears aren’t his only company in the dark. A face like moonlight and eyes that glitter like stars flit behind his eyelids every time he manages to close them. 

If only he could see something other than fear in those eyes, the image might actually be comforting.

But there’s nothing to be done about it. Credence made his feelings very clear and Percival isn’t about to violate that boundary. So he does his best to push the boy from his mind, and sleep. Work. Sleep. Work. Sleep. Work. Sleep. He’s numb with routine, but it’s better than feeling.

“You know, it’s hard for people not to worry about you when you walk around with that look on your face.”

Percival startles at the sound of Cordelia’s voice, tearing his gaze away from the slow circling of the spoon in his coffee mug. Cordelia holds her hands up in a well-meaning gesture, and Percival lets his shoulders fall, shaking himself.

“My apologies,” he mutters. Cordelia just shakes her head.

“I expected to find you in your office,” she says. “From what I hear you’ve been holing yourself up in there.”

Percival gives a dry chuckle. “I guess I just needed some air.”

“Not to mention some coffee,” Cordelia replies. “I hope you haven’t gone back to living off the stuff again. You know it isn’t good for you.”

“Yes, I know,” Percival sighs, though he’s struggling to remember having eaten or drank anything else for the past couple of days… “So did you come here just to berate me about my diet?”

“No,” Cordelia smiles. She reaches into her pocket, and Percival raises an eyebrow when she produces a folded up piece of parchment, sealed with wax. “I came to give you this.”

“Are things that slow in the medical ward that they have you running errands like this now?” Percival asks. Cordelia shrugs, handing over the parchment with a little flourish.

“I just thought this one deserved a special delivery,” she replies. Percival takes the letter with a faint frown, which deepens when he sees his name, printed in perfectly neat handwriting.

“Who is this from?”

“I’ll give you one guess.”

Percival wants to be annoyed at Cordelia’s flippancy, but his chest is too busy thrumming with realization for much else to matter. It has to be from Credence…there’s no one else that would make sense.

He slides his thumb under the wax seal, setting down his coffee, which is quickly forgotten as he unfolds the letter. His eyes dart to the signature at the bottom, and sure enough, written in the same tidy script is Credence’s name. His first name only, Percival notes, though who can say whether it’s an attempt at being personable, or an attempt to distance himself from his violent foster mother.

“Have you read this?” he asks, glancing at Cordelia.

“The only thing I know is that it took him four tries to be satisfied with whatever it was he was writing,” Cordelia says. She sighs after a pause, shaking her head. “He told me it was alright if I did look, but I didn’t want to intrude. He’s clearly not used to being allowed his privacy.”

Percival nods slowly, but now he’s transfixed by the letter, his gaze crawling back up the page to begin reading it properly.

_ Mr. Graves, _

_ I’m very sorry for how I reacted when you came to visit me. I was confused, and I thought you might be Grindelwald in disguise again. Mrs. Donaciano explained to me that he’s in prison now and cannot get out, and that I don’t need to be afraid. _

Percival pauses, a sad smile curling on his lips. It’s kind of Cordelia to soothe the boy’s worries, but Percival can’t help but wonder if her words might in the end amount to untruths.

_ I did not mean to offend you by reacting the way I did, and I hope that you might reconsider visiting me. I promise I will be calm if you do decide to come again.  _

_ Sincerely, Credence _

Percival sighs, shaking his head as he scans the letter a second, and then a third time. Short and perfunctory. Well-formed but with almost no emotion. Except for the hope, and the promise…

“Well?”

“It’s an apology,” Percival says. Cordelia’s fighting a smile when he returns his gaze to her. “You had nothing to do with this?”

“Nothing, on my honor,” Cordelia replies. “I’m just the messenger.” A moment passes, and Percival sees her narrow her eyes before he finds himself scanning the letter yet again. 

“There’s something else, isn’t there?” 

Percival smiles wryly. “He says he ‘hopes I will consider visiting him again’.”

A grin breaks out on Cordelia’s face, warm and maternal. “I thought he might,” she chuckles.

“Oh really?” 

“Well he kept asking me about you after you left,” she shrugs. “How long I’d known you, what you were like, why you wanted to see him…” she chuckles again. “I had to tell him there are some questions only you would be able to answer.”

Percival finds himself nodding absentmindedly as he folds up the letter, meticulously following each crease with his fingers until the parchment looks almost undisturbed. He can’t imagine what he could say that the boy would want to hear. He can’t even recall what he’d planned to say in the first place.

“Would you like to come now?”

Percival’s head darts up, and his surprise must read on his face, because Cordelia’s expression can only be described as one of disappointment.

“You really think I should?”

“Well, you are the first person he’s reached out to in all the weeks he’s been here,” Cordelia sighs. “And he’s very reticent to ask for anything, especially another person’s time.”

“I thought you said the Goldsteins have been visiting him?”

“They have,” Cordelia nods. “And Mr. Scamander has been writing him letters as well, but he doesn’t ask them to visit, or ask me about them. He’s only showed an active interest in you.”

Percival’s thumb has begun to slowly circle the letter’s wax seal, its ridges and grooves carving numbness into his skin. “So it would be bad form for me to not visit?” he questions.

“In so many words,” Cordelia mutters. Her amber eyes take hold of Percival, silencing any further argument from him. “I think it could be good for both of you, and I think this young man deserves to have at least one of his wishes granted.”

In spite of all the façades Percival may put up, his heart is not, in fact, made of stone. He lets his teeth sink into his tongue, and tucks the letter into the inner pocket of his vest.

“I have some work I need to finish right now,” he says. It’s the truth, but he’s still not sure it’s honest. “But I will come later this afternoon.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” Cordelia replies. Percival nods curtly, pausing for a breath that almost becomes words, before he lets it out and begins to walk away.

“Forgetting something?”

Percival nearly trips over his feet as he turns back to Cordelia, whose hand arcs gracefully. Percival blinks as his coffee mug glides in front of him, and chuckles weakly as he takes it from the air.

“Can’t forget that,” he mutters. Cordelia just shakes her head, waving him off towards his office.

******

Somehow, after days of unending work upon unending work, Percival finds his desk clear before it’s even mid-afternoon. He has to glance at the clock twice to make sure he’s read it right, and even after that he goes out into the main Aurors’ office, just to check that his clock hasn’t broken or been jinxed.

Surely something is to blame for this convenient lack of responsibilities…

“Something wrong, Director?”

Percival turns away from the clock to see Tina Goldstein leaning against her desk, her messy bob fanning out to frame her face. 

“No,” he answers, and a frown furrows Tina’s pale, cupid’s bow mouth. He clears his throat, settling himself back into reality. “I…I think I’ll be going early today.”

“Early?”

Percival smiles half-heartedly at the shock in Tina’s voice and busies himself with uncuffing his shirt sleeves. He feels the letter in his pocket shift, a heavy reminder of this evening’s engagement. “I seem to have run out of work for the day, so I might as well, right?”

Tina’s silent, and when Percival glances up, she’s looking at him like he’s grown an extra head. 

“Goldstein?”

Tina blinks, giving her head a little shake. “Y-yes, by all means,” she says quickly, her hands hovering over her desk in a moment of indecision, then splaying flat against the wooden surface. “I’ll, uh, hold down the fort here…”

“Thank you,” Percival says, and Tina’s head picks up again, her hair bouncing comically as she flashes him a nervous smile.

“Sure thing,” she chirps.

Percival nods, disappearing into his office to gather his coat and briefcase. When he returns, Tina’s still at her desk, frowning over a file. Percival nearly stops, nearly asks her about Credence, about what he could possibly say to the boy, but bites his tongue in the end, nodding briefly to a few other coworkers as he passes them by and makes his way to the elevator.

The ride down to the medical wing drags out too long, the metallic clicking and grinding of the elevator wriggling through Percival’s ears in a way it never has before. He tries to shake the offensive noises out of his head, but all it gets him is a strange look from the house elf operating the elevator.

The same attendant from the week before is at the front desk. She smiles at Percival this time and he smiles back as he asks for Cordelia. Once again, the poor girl looks disappointed as she hurries off down the hall. When she returns, Cordelia’s patting her affectionately on the shoulder.

“Thank you, Millie,” she says to attendant who nods, tucking are already neat hair back behind her ear as she passes Percival on the way to the desk. Cordelia’s smirking at him when he looks back to her. “You’re earlier than I thought you’d be.”

Percival shrugs. “I managed to finish early today.”

“Really?” Cordelia raises an eyebrow. “To be honest, I doubted you would show up at all.”

“Have some faith in me,” Percival chuckles, despite the nervousness flickering in his chest. “I try to be a man of my word.”

Cordelia just placates him with a smile, nodding towards the corridor to Credence’s room. “Shall we?”

Percival nods, but the soles of his feet are suddenly heavy as he follows behind Cordelia. He makes no effort to talk, his mind is too busy, too fixated on the letter burning in his pocket and the thought of the boy at the end of the hallway. 

“If I didn’t know you better I’d almost say you were nervous.”

Percival tries to grin at Cordelia’s teasing, but they’re in front of Credence’s window now, and his throat’s gone dry. The boy’s pacing back and forth in front of his bed, wringing his pale hands, his eyes wide, lost in thought.

“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think.”

Cordelia simply nods, raising her hand to knock on Credence’s door. The boy’s head bolts up at the sound, but his gaze doesn’t linger on the door. Instead, it drifts to the window, and Percival feels a little shudder crawl through him when those dark eyes seem to look right past the glass and into his own.

“Credence?” Cordelia calls, and the boy’s gaze quickly returns to the source of the sound. “May I come in?” 

“Y-yes.” 

Credence’s voice sounds strained, even though he’s barely speaking above a whisper. Cordelia opens the door, a warm smile gracing her face.

“You have a visitor,” she says. “Do you think you’re up for that?” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Credence nods. Cordelia doesn’t hesitate to wave Percival forward as she steps into Credence’s room. Percival follows, his head staying lowered for a moment more than is necessary before he looks to Credence.

The boy looks like he’s stopped breathing, his eyes wide and his rosy lips parted as he looks back and forth between Cordelia and Percival.

“Hello, Credence,” Percival says. Somehow the boy’s eyes get even wider.

“H-hello, M-Mr. Graves…sir,” he replies, his voice barely audible. Percival presses his lips together at the string of formalities, and at the way Credence’s head quickly bows.

“Is it alright if I leave you two alone?” Cordelia asks. Credence barely glances up, but nods all the same. Cordelia smiles, resting her hand on Percival’s shoulder as she turns. “I’ll leave you to it then.”

Percival murmurs a thank you, and then the door closes, the sound shuddering throughout the room, and Percival finds his mind blank. Credence doesn’t appear to be faring any better. His head is still down, tipped to the side to expose his neck, and his hands are fidgeting, picking roughly at his nails. Even from a distance Percival can see they’re bitten down to nubs, his cuticles torn and red.

“Y-You…”

Percival’s attention narrows in when Credence speaks, a surprise for them both. He forces himself to smile, hoping that Credence will take that as encouragement to continue.

“Yes?” he prompts when Credence continues to hesitate. The boy bites his lip, but finds his voice nevertheless

“Y-you got my letter?”

Percival chuckles, can’t help himself. “Yes,” he replies. “Cordelia brought it straight to me.”

Pink dusts across Credence’s high cheekbones, and he ducks his head yet again, but Percival still smiles. It’s endearing how shy the boy is.

“I didn’t expect you to come so quickly,” he murmurs. “I-I know you’re very busy…”

“Usually I am,” Percival says, though he regrets it when Credence’s shoulders hunch in. “But I wanted to see you,” he adds. “And there was no reason to keep you waiting.”

It must be the right thing to say, because Credence’s head jolts up, his eyes glistening as they peer into Percival’s own. Percival has to remind himself how to breathe. A person could drown in those eyes.

“Shall we sit down?” He’s halfway to gesturing at the table and chairs when Credence drops down right where he’s standing to perch on the edge of his bed. He seems to realize his mistake, because he’s almost instantly flushing a deep pink. 

“I’m s-”

“It’s alright.” Percival holds up his hand, and Credence goes still again. “Are you more comfortable there?”

Credence pauses, his eyes drifting off to the side and then down, before he nods.

“I-I guess so, sir,” he whispers. Percival’s smile feels tight, but he makes the effort all the same, and is rewarded when Credence glances at him again, pink still tinting his cheeks.

“Then we can sit there,” he says simply. He flicks his wrist so one chair follows him across the room and thinks nothing of the gesture. Until, of course, he sees Credence staring, mouth open in what can only be described as wonder. Whether that’s charming or heartbreaking, Percival can’t quite decide.

He does decide that it would be better not to comment on it, and sits, crossing his legs and resting his hands over his knee. Credence settles himself as well, pulling his legs up onto the bed and folding them neatly, his hands grasping his ankles. Hunched over and closed off, except for those boundless, vulnerable eyes.

“How are you doing, Credence?” It’s the only thing he can think to ask, and though it falls a little flat to his ears, it does get a response.

“I’m ok,” Credence murmurs. Percival nods curtly.

“Good.” His reply comes out more clipped than he’d intended, and he feels guilt twist in his stomach when Credence flinches from it. “I mean, that’s good to hear,” he amends. “I’m glad you’re doing well, after the ordeal you went through.”

Credence peeks up at him, his hair shadowing his eyes. It’s grown, Percival thinks, at least in comparison to how short it had been during Tina’s scandal…

“Thank you, sir.”

“You’re welcome,” Percival says. Silence falls, but Credence is still watching him, Percival meets those glittering eyes, steadying himself with a slow breath for whatever is to come.

“Mr. Graves,” Credence starts, and Percival squares his shoulders on instinct. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” is his immediate reply. Credence’s teeth drag over his lip, and his eyes flick back and forth, searching Percival’s face for something…what is anyone’s guess.

“Why did you want to visit me?”

Percival lets out a sigh, his hands flexing against his leg. Honesty is his only recourse, he supposes. “Because the man who stole my identity used it to hurt you,” he states. “And as selfish as it may sound, I needed to see what damage had been done, for my own peace of mind.”

Credence is so still when Percival stops speaking, and looks unsteady enough that Percival suspects he might be able to knock the boy over with the softest touch. His eyes linger on those pink, parted lips, his ears train on the shuddery intake of breath that passes between them.

And then Credence ducks his head yet again, breaking the spell. His hands tighten on his ankles as he murmurs “I don’t think that’s selfish, sir.”

Percival chuckles, lowering his gaze as well. “That’s kind of you to say,” he sighs. In his periphery, he sees Credence shrug. “May I ask you a question now?”

Credence’s head picks up, and he nods at once, but nervousness glints in his eyes. What does he think Percival could possibly ask to warrant such a look?

“Why did you want me to visit you?”

Credence looks taken aback, full lips disappearing between his teeth as he pulls his hands closer to his body, clasping them anxiously. “I-I…” he whispers. “I…w-well…”

“It’s alright, Credence, ” Percival prompts, but it doesn’t do much good. In fact, Credence looks somehow less alright than before, like a small, cornered animal.

“I just…” Credence tries again, clearly fighting himself to make his voice heard. “Y-you never did anything to me, you know? I didn’t want you to think I was scared of you or anything…”

Credence’s voice fades just before Percival’s self-control snaps. It’s nearly impossible not to reach out and hold the boy’s fidgety hands when he has to listen to him tremble through every word. Credence is still watching him, and Percival can nearly envision a small kitten or puppy in the boy’s place, ears pressed down flat and eyes wide.

“You had a right to be afraid of me,” he murmurs, doing his best to keep his voice soft once again. “I wasn’t surprised by how you reacted.”

Credence looks like he might cry, and Percival feels guilt wrench his stomach once more.

“I’m sorry,” Credence squeaks. “I-I––”

“Credence, please––”

They cut each other off, falling silent when Credence flinches from Percival’s outstretched hand. Percival quickly pulls back but the damage is done, their mutual embarrassment coloring the air. Credence’s back is against the wall now, and he pulls his knees up to his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again. Percival has to close his eyes for a moment.

“Please, stop apologizing,” he sighs. Credence hangs his head at the admonishment, btu Percival presses even so. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“B-but––”

Percival sighs again without even meaning to, and Credence goes silent yet again, biting his lip. Percival meets those dark eyes, losing himself in the for just a moment as he searches for the right words.

“Credence,” he murmurs. Credence’s eyes stay fixed on him like he’s hypnotized. “In my line of work, I see a lot of people who have dealt with trauma. The way you react to me, to everyone, is very normal. You don’t have to apologize for it.”

Credence’s gaze glimmers a little too brightly before the boy hides his face, resting his chin on his knees.

“Mrs. Donaciano told me the same thing,’ he murmurs. “But I just…”

He trails off, but Percival needs no explanation. It’s one thing to know something intellectually, but another entirely to put it into practice.

“It’s alright,” he repeats. Credence nods, though the action seems performatory. Percival waits for the boy to say something, but nothing comes. “Would you like me to leave?”

“No!”

The exclamation very nearly explodes out of Credence, his tenor voice squeaking in his urgency. Percival lifts his hand and smiles, and Credence shies back, pink painting across his cheeks.

“Ok,” Percival nods, and for half a second, he thinks he sees Credence’s lips twitch up in a hint of a smile. But just as quickly it disappears, and Credence closes himself off yet again. Percival sighs, but gives the boy his peace, glancing around the small room.

The vase that had shattered the week before has been repaired, and is now filled with pale red carnations. Percival frowns when he notices the flowers have begun to wilt, curling and fading at the edges while their stems droop. A single petal detaches from one of the blooms, fluttering down to land next to a pink box on the nightstand. Upon closer inspection, Percival finds that the ruffled pink paper inside is full of sweets and pastries. Queenie Goldstein’s doing, he suspects. He’s seen similar boxes find their way onto Tina’s desk.

“Would you like one?”

Percival glances back to Credence at the sound of the boy’s voice. “What?”

Credence tips his head towards the nightstand by way of explanation. “Would you like one?” he repeats.

“Oh, no, thank you,” Percival says. Credence nods, and the sidelong glance he sends to the box is anything but subtle. “But you’re welcome to have one if you’re hungry.”

“Really?” The surprise in the boy’s voice is endearing and has a smile pulling at Percival’s mouth.

“Of course,” he says. “They’re yours, after all.”

Credence still seems hesitant, but after a moment he slides onto his knees, grabbing the box off his nightstand. He pulls it into his lap, quickly folding his legs underneath him again, but Percival still catches a glimpse of a smooth, pale stomach when the boy’s shirt rides up with his reaching. Even sweeter is when he takes a tentative bite out of a pastry, and white cream smears across his lip.

“Did Queenie Goldstein bring those for you?”

“Yeah,” Credence nods, shielding his still-full mouth with his hand. “She keeps bringing me stuff…”

“Did she bring the flowers as well?”

Credence shakes his head, swallowing the last of the pastry, then shrugging. “Miss Tina brought them…but they came in together,” he answers. He casts a glance at the flowers, and a sadness comes over his face. He sets the box of pastries to the side, pulling his knees up to his chest once more. The cream is still on his lip, and Percival shakes his head, producing a handkerchief from his pocket and handing it over.

“On your lip,” he says when Credence looks at him, confused. “You’ve got…”

He lets the sentence trail off when Credence pokes his tongue out between his lips, tasting the cream and instantly turning bright red. “Oh…” he mutters as he takes the handkerchief, quickly wiping his mouth. He looks like he’s about to say something else––probably a thank you or an apology––when the little square of fabric folds up and gives itself a little scrub before laying open again, perfectly clean. That look of wonder has overtaken the boy’s face once more, and Percival can’t resist chuckling.

“Charmed to be self-cleaning,” he explains. Credence nods dumbly, still looking shocked. “You can keep it if you like, I have spares.” 

Credence stares at him for a moment, disbelief replacing his surprise, but when Percival says nothing else, he simply grasps the handkerchief with both hands and lowers his head. 

“Thank you, sir.”

“You’re welcome,” Percival replies. Even with the boy’s head bowed, the red swirling in his cheeks is still visible. “So it seems the Goldstein sisters have taken a liking to you.”

Credence shrugs. “I guess so.” Percival frowns at the solemnity in his voice.

“Something wrong with that?”

“N-no!” Credence quickly corrects. “Just…” He pauses, biting his lip. “They’re always sad after they visit me…especially Miss Queenie. I don’t like doing that to them.”

Percival opens his mouth, then closes it when nothing comes out. Sensitive is perhaps the only apt way to describe this boy. “Why Queenie especially?” he asks, if only out of curiosity.

“Because she reads minds,” Credence replies, as if it’s obvious. Percival does his best to nod, as if the revelation that a Legilimens has been serving him coffee for years isn’t a complete shock to his system. What a waste of talent… “And there’s nothing good inside my head.”

Credence’s voice brings him back, and he feels an odd tightness in his chest at the boy’s words. His instinct is to tell him that it’s not true, but after everything Credence has lived through, it very well could be.

“Well if she’s continuing to visit you, it must not bother her as much as you might think,” he says. Credence shrugs and doesn’t look convinced.

“Mr. Graves?” he murmurs after a moment.

“Yes?”

Credence fiddles with the handkerchief in his lap, his thumb rubbing back and forth over the soft fabric. “Miss Tina said that you and her are like police officers…you track down dark wizards and put them in prison…”

Percival only has a vague idea of what a police officer is, but nods all the same. “That’s right.”

Credence’s head lilts to the side, his lips parting several moments before his voice finds its way out. “What…what exactly makes somebody a dark wizard?”

Percival raises an eyebrow, unable to hide his surprise this time. What an odd question… “I suppose the simplest way to put it, is that a dark wizard, or witch, is someone who uses their magic to hurt people and cause destruction.” Personally, he’s never been fond of the phrase, finding it much too simplistic…

But Credence looks ready to burst into tears. The delicate skin of his eyes has even begun to blotch red, and when he speaks, his voice cracks.

“Do you think I’m a dark wizard, Mr. Graves?”

Stunned silent, Percival can only watch as Credence sniffles, peering up through his eyelashes, his inexhaustible eyes begging for an answer.

“No.” Percival says, letting a beat pass so his reply can settle in. “Why would I think that?”

“B-because!” Credence insists, his ire lasting only a moment before he’s cowering again. “Because I…my Obscurus nearly destroyed the city…it killed people and even now that it’s gone the only magic I can do is…”

He trails off, gesturing weakly at the flower vase as he falls silent. Percival shakes his head.

“Breaking things accidentally is pretty common,” he says. “Most children do it when they’re still learning, and it can even happen with adults is they lose control of their emotions.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

It’s the most forceful he’s heard Credence be, and it stuns him for a moment. Credence still looks on the verge of tears, hugging his knees tightly to his chest.

“I mean the flowers,” he whimpers. “Miss Tina only brought them yesterday but they’re already dying. She brings different ones every time she comes but they always die. Miss Queenie says it’s just because I’m unhappy but…”

Percival draws in a slow breath as Credence’s voice fails him, the only thing he can think to do. It makes perfect sense, considering the situation, but seeing the boy so heartbroken over it…

“Queenie’s right, you know,” he says. Credence just shakes his head weakly, disbelieving. “All emotions influence magic, and when you’re still learning, magic can influence everything around you.”

Credence peeks up at him, his lower lip quivering. “But what if I can only ever do stuff like that?” he asks.

“I doubt that,” Percival chuckles. Credence frowns, so he continues. “Living for as long as you did with an Obscurus feeding off you, you’re power must be immense, you just need to learn how to use it.”

Credence still looks far from convinced, rubbing his sleeve across his wet eyes. Percival decides a change of tactics is in order. Credence doesn’t deserve to be afraid of his own magic. No one does.

“Would you let me try something with you, Credence?”

Credence looks utterly taken aback, even moreso when Percival stands. He presses himself against the wall, seemingly on instinct, watching with wide eyes as Percival strolls toward his bedside table and plucks one of the wilting carnations from the vase. 

“Watch,” he says, as if Credence isn’t utterly fixated on him already. He hold the flower upright in his fingertips, drawing in a slow breath as he narrows his focus effortlessly, magic tingling through the palm of his hand. For a split second, the flower shimmers, and Percival raises his eyes to watch Credence as the petals begin to lift and bloom. 

As expected, Credence’s whole face opens in a look of shock. He even draws in a small gasp, looking up at Percival with awestruck eyes, all trace of nervousness gone.

“How did you do that?” he asks breathlessly. Percival smiles, tucking the revived flower back into the vase and pulling out another.

“I’ll show you,” he says. He sits back down, this time on the edge of his chair. “Come to the edge of the bed.”

Credence obeys, sliding forward at once. He sets his feet on the floor and Percival forces himself to hold in a chuckle when their knees brush and Credence shivers in surprise. He hands over the flower and Credence takes it gingerly. 

“Tell me, Credence,” Percival murmurs, “when I was here last, and you accidentally broke that vase, could you feel that you were using magic?”

Credence shrugs, his shoulders staying very close to his ears. “I guess…” he mumbles.

“Where did you feel it?”

The boy’s head jerks up, his messy hair bouncing with the force of it. “W-what?”

Percival smiles, holding out his hands, palms up. “Everyone feels their magic in a slightly different way,” he explains. “Sometimes I feel it in my stomach, but usually it’s in my hands. That’s one of the reasons I took so quickly to wandless magic, I’d always felt that the wand was more or less in the way.”

Credence nods slowly and chews his lip for a moment. “I-I guess I feel it in here,” he says. One hand rests on the center of his chest, curling into his shirt. When a frown twists the boy’s gentle face, Percival has to ask.

“What’s wrong?”

Credence shrugs, but his reluctance doesn’t last. “It’s just…” he falters. “E-ever since Mr. Scamander took my Obscurus away…it’s like there’s this big hole where it used to be…”

Credence’s voice fades, his shoulders curling forward, almost as if he’s trying to shield the vulnerable core of his body. Percival’s hands tighten briefly into fists, and he has to force them to relax. 

“Have you told Cordelia this?”

Guilt flashes in Credence’s eyes as he shakes his head. “I thought it meant all my magic was gone, but when that wasn’t the case…I guess I just thought it didn’t matter.”

Percival chuckles. Even in a healing ward, Credence doesn’t want to worry anyone. 

“You might be right,” he says. Credence looks at him, blinking owlishly as he fiddles with the flower in his hands.“The Obscurus was feeding off of your magic, it makes sense that it would be where your magic was strongest. You probably just got used to the feeling of its presence, and now that it’s gone…”

Credence nods, letting out a little sigh. “I just wish it didn’t make me feel so empty…”

“You’ll get used to it again,” Percival says, hoping that it’s true. Credence’s eyes shimmer at him for a moment, and Percival quashes a flutter in his chest. “Now, back to your magic lesson.”

Credence’s face lights up instantly and Percival smiles, leaning forward so his elbows can rest on his knees. 

“I want you to think about how I made that flower bloom,” he says, clasping his hands loosely between his knees. “What it looked like, how you felt.” Credence nods obediently, but pulls his lip between his teeth. “You can close your eyes if it helps.”

Credence squeezes his eyes shut, and Percival smiles at the effort he’s so obviously putting into it, his brows knitting together and his lips pursing.

“Can you describe that feeling for me?”

“W-warm, I guess…” Credence breathes. “Bright…kinda like sunshine…”

“Good,” Percival says. Carefully, he reaches out to rest his hands over Credence’s. The boy starts, his eyes flickering open, but he settles just as quickly, watching Percival intently. “Now fill the space in your chest with that feeling, and focus on the flower. Picture it blooming in your hands.”

Credence wastes no time in complying, his face screwing up in concentration once more. At first there’s nothing, just quiet, but then Percival begins to feel magic radiating like heat from the core of the boy’s body.

“Very good,” he prompts. His hand reaches out of its own accord, seeking out the magic blossoming in the center of Credence’s chest. Credence gasps, but doesn’t falter, his magic flaring brighter still. “Just focus, Credence.”

The power coming off the boy is incredible. Wonderous, even, and from something so simple… Percival forgets to breathe, forgets to think…all he can do is bask in Credence’s glow as the boy fills the room with light.

Surely it’s been barely a minute, but it seems like hours have passed once that light begins to fade. Credence lets out a slow breath, his eyelashes fluttering to reveal hazy eyes. A giggle bubbles out of him, and Percival smiles in return, his hand still on Credence’s chest with no desire to pull away.

“Look,” he says, nodding to the flower. Its pale red color is vibrant once again, and the petals are standing full and fresh. Credence seems confused for a moment, as if drunk on his own magic, but as soon as he looks down, he gasps.

“I told you, you could do it,” Percival murmurs. Credence stares at the flower, then his gaze darts back up to Percival, fixing him with a look of utter shock. And then a smile emerges on his face, glowing almost brighter than his magic had, the corners of his eyes crinkling as another laugh pours past his lips.

“I did it,” he says, the words rushing out of him. He grabs holding of Percival’s wrist, pressing the elder man’s hand closer to his chest as he bounces on the edge of the bed. “I did it!”

“Yes you did,” Percival replies. Credence beams at him again, but something catches his attention out of the corner of his eye. He turns, and his mouth falls open in another gasp. When Percival turns to see what has him so surprised, he discovers that every flower in the vase has been returned to its full glory. He chuckles, but it’s hard to be surprised when he’s felt the power Credence possesses. 

“Did…” Credence hesitates, but Percival simply nods.

“Yes, you did,” he says. Disbelief fights with joy on Credence’s face, but joy wins out, and Credence is beaming again in seconds. He grasps Percival’s wrist tighter, and Percival adjusts his hand so he can hold Credence’s in return. Credence blushes when he squeezes softly, allowing their hands to fall into his lap.

“Thank you,” he whispers. His breath catches in his throat, and Percival suspects his voice is betraying him. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome,” he replies. Credence smiles at him again, and of its own accord, Percival’s hand reaches out. It lands on Credence’s fine jaw, and the boy’s whole face turns soft and open in an instant. Lips the same color as the carnation in his hand part and dark eyes glimmer, time slowing to a crawl as Percival watches his thumb skate along the underside of a poignant cheekbone.

He has to pull away to remember how to breath again––how many times today has this boy already stolen his breath?––and when he does Credence seems to waver, his eyes hazy once more. Time is still too slow, but like honey being poured, accelerates to a rush in a jarring split second.

“I should go,” Percival says. Credence doesn’t manage to hide his crestfallen look, no matter how quickly he ducks his head. Percival sighs, this time reaching for the much safer spot of Credence’s shoulder, smiling when Credence looks up at him again. “Keep practicing your magic, alright? I have no doubt you’ll start improving in no time.”

“I will,” Credence promises, with all the earnestness in the world. Percival nods, gathering his thoughts together before he stands. He turns, guiding his chair back towards the table with a wave of his hand, but he only makes it one step before––

“Mr. Graves!”

Credence’s sudden exclamation startles him, and he turns back to see Credence on his feet. He’s still holding the carnation close to his chest, his eyes peeking up while his head stays lowered.

“W-will you come back and see me again?” His voice has returned to a whisper, but hope glistens in those eyes. How can Percival turn him down?

“I will,” he says and is rewarded with a tender smile. “How about the same day next week?”

“Ok,” Credence nods, the excitement in his voice barely restrained.

“Until then,” Percival says, “take care, Credence.”

Soft pink curls in Credence’s cheeks and a shy smile floats across his face, but for some reason the sincerity in the boy’s voice is what really makes Percival’s heart skip a beat. 

“You too, Mr. Graves.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr at moonsofavalon.tumblr.com
> 
> And leave a review if you enjoyed~


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